


Sweeping the Shadows

by AnneTaylor



Series: Dolphin's Wake [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Fairshaw, Light Bondage, M/M, Miscommunication, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/AnneTaylor
Summary: Flynn has something he needs to confess to Shaw. And it isn't what Shaw expects.This is a sequel...many spoilers, if you haven't read the first one...
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Series: Dolphin's Wake [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729903
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43
Collections: Fairshaw Week 2020





	Sweeping the Shadows

When Alliance spymaster Mathias Shaw wasn’t on the _Redemption_ , he kept hours in a tidy office above the Sanctum of the Mages. Normally, the means of egress though the Sanctum was intimidating enough to warn off most visitors, but there was one who was, unfortunately, quite immune to both intimidation and subtle hints. Mathias suspected him of having access to a secret entrance from the harbormaster’s office next door.

"I've got a confession to make." Flynn Fairwind, ex-pirate stood in the center of the room, legs akimbo and arms crossed over his thickly-muscled chest, the manly effect somewhat blunted by the gentle bulge of Flynn’s beer-gut.

"A confession. Really?" _Oh, no. Please let it not have anything to do with the purple dye that was swapped for Wyrmbane’s hair tonic last week…_

"Yes."

"Must you?"

"It's been eating at me for weeks, Shaw. Ever since I started thinking about it. Just can’t get it out of my head."

"Can't you just assume that whatever it is that you've done, I've done much worse. Probably repeatedly. And consider yourself forgiven. Unless it concerns matters of state or politics or..."

"No, Shaw." Flynn threw himself against the backrest of his chair. "It's personal."

"That's what I was afraid of." The spymaster set his pen down and gave Flynn a long-suffering look. "I suppose you'll worry at it and mope about until you have it out. Very well. Go ahead."

Flynn shifted in his chair. His gaze fell to the floor, and his shoulders hunched.

 _Oh, hell_ , thought Mathias. _What has he done now_?

"Back on the Dolphin, I, um..." Flynn fell silent, then got up and started to pace. "My motives...I told myself I did it to save you from worse punishment. But...I...looking back at what was going through my head...I don't think my motives were entirely pure."

Mathias burst out laughing. "Entirely pure isn't a label I'd ever ascribe to you, Flynn."

"I may have been influenced by certain...fantasies..."

 _Ah, Flynn_. Mathias sighed. "I hope it doesn't disappoint you to find out that this isn't precisely news, Flynn. I knew what your motives were. I said as much to you at the time, as you may recall.” _Not playing your perverted games, Fairwind. I've heard things about you_... “I may have been a bit harsh, but I wasn't particularly pleased at being asked to put myself in such a position."

"I..." Flynn seemed confused. "I don't remember that. I mean…I do remember, don’t think that I’ve forgotten what happened, but…"

"Well, it hardly matters."

"It does matter. You accused me of abusing my position and you were right. What I did was wrong, Shaw, and it makes me sick to my stomach thinking about it."

"Well...all right. It was wrong. Don't do it again." Mathias picked up his pen and went back to paging through the papers, scanning their contents and carefully scrawling his signature across the bottom of each. He didn't have to reject any of them; Renzik was good at screening out the rubbish before it crossed Mathias' desk.

He put down his pen again. The silence had grown deafening. "Flynn."

"Hmm?" Flynn was worrying at his lower lip.

It was rather an endearing trait, Mathias thought. But then, he found many things about Flynn endearing. Not that he'd ever admit that to his favorite agent-for-hire. "I'm sure you know that there is no possible way that you could compel me to do something I was completely unwilling to do." There now, that ought to be enough of a hint that even Fairwind should pick up on it.

"That doesn't make what I did any less sickening." Flynn's voice was raw with self-loathing. He got up out of his chair and stood, fists clenching. He looked miserable.

Apparently not. _Oh, Flynn, what am I going to do with you_? Mathias rose and went to stand behind Flynn. He wrapped arms around Flynn's waist and pressed his face into the back of the other man's neck. "You know, I am considered a masterful judge of character and intent. It's one of the requirements of my position. I know you, Flynn. That isn't what was on your mind at the time you made your decision, though it may have been, afterwards, when faced with the visuals of seeing me dangling from your rafters. I think you are letting guilt over how things turned out twist your memories of how they started."

"But..." Flynn's hands crept up to cover Mathias' "...I used to...to fantasize about it. About you."

"Of course you did," Mathias told him smugly. "And who could blame you? There are quite a number of people, just in this city alone, who probably fantasize quite frequently about putting me in chains. Though I doubt I'd find much pleasure in the situation if they had their way. Some of them have even succeeded. You remember the time we got caught stealing papers from that idiot smuggler-turned-traitor on the beach south of Booty Bay? We ended up on the Damsel's Luck, chained in the hold?"

"You would have to remind me of that," Flynn grumbled. "Not fun."

"Oh...I think you enjoyed it quite a bit. Certainly looked that way to me."

Flynn made a strangled sound. "I hoped you wouldn't notice that."

 _I notice everything about you, Flynn_. "We spent several hours chained shoulder to shoulder in a hold, Fairwind. How could I not notice?"

Flynn muttered something under his breath.

"The only thing I didn't know, and I was curious, was whether it was the idea of being in chains that excited you, or the sight of me in them. My experience and knowledge of your character suggested the latter, and what happened on the Dolphin merely confirmed it. So you see," Mathias gave Flynn a reassuring pat on his head and returned to his desk "there's nothing you need hold yourself accountable for. If there is anything to forgive, then consider it forgiven."

Flynn stood, blinking and looking a little bewildered. "This isn't how I was expecting this conversation to go."

 _Hoping for a few more fireworks to get the blood flowing_? Flynn could be as transparent as glass. Most of the time. Mathias smiled to himself. He sat down at his desk and finished signing the papers, feeling the pleasant tingle of anticipation begin to flush his limbs. He gathered up the pile of signed papers, tapped them against the polished wood to square them, and placed them in the outgoing box.

There were three more items in his to-do list. A memo, dictated by Anduin, regarding changes that would need to be made to Alliance patrols in Kul Tiras. None of it was news; Mathias had been the one to suggest them, after all. The second was a nine-page report from Reznik, summarizing individual reports from their agents in Kalimdor. The length of it suggested that the Horde was easing up somewhat in their vigilance toward humans. Mathias wondered if Blightcaller had anything to do with that. Though it galled him to admit it, the Forsaken had to be given credit for his actions regarding the Freehold incident. Interrogation of the blood elf prisoner that Blightcaller had dropped into Alliance hands had revealed a number of alarming plots centering on Quel'Danas, including the goal of putting the Alliance and Horde at each others' throats.

That one had been averted. For now, at least.

The last report was a long list of requisitions. Mathias scanned it, his mind only half engaged in the task. He glanced over at Flynn, who was back in his chair, eyes unfocused, squirming slightly as he clutched the armrests. Not hard to guess what fantasies had taken hold of his mind.

Mathias scribbled his name across the last page of the list and sprawled back in his own chair. "You know, Fairwind, communications would flow so much more smoothly between us if you'd only use your words," he drawled.

"What?" Flynn started, as if he had been interrupted from something. Guilt immediately blossomed over his tanned features, and he hurriedly crossed his legs. "I don't know what you're talking about, Shaw."

"Obviously."

Flynn thought about that for a moment. "No. Really. I have no idea."

It was annoying to have to be so explicit about it. Mathias hated explicit. It was much more comfortable to cloak what he said in layers of obfuscation and force others to infer his meaning. "I'm not exactly unwilling."

It was easy to tell the exact moment that Flynn finally unraveled Mathias' meaning. "Oh." His body twitched, then his gaze flew to Mathias, eyes wide and incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"I'd hardly have brought it up if I wasn't," Mathias grumbled.

Flynn's body slouched into the chair. A slow grin broke over his face. "How long has this been going on?"

"Going on? There's nothing going on." _Why must you insist on talking everything to death, Fairwind_? "I just thought you would like to know. In case you wanted to do anything about it."

"When?" Flynn's eyes danced.

"Surprise me." Mathias regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, and from the look on Flynn’s face, the man was well aware of his misgivings. His grin widened into something that was positively demonic.

Mathias closed his eyes and sent up a prayer that he hadn’t just unleashed a disaster of the first order on himself.

“Right. You’re a gem, Mattie.” Flynn leaped up from the chair, nearly tripping in his eagerness. “I’ll leave you to your paperwork then. See you around.” He exited Mathias’ office, whistling and walking with a decided spring to his step.

 _Light help me_ …

* * *

Mathias pulled off his boots and tossed them aside. Stripping down to his smalls, he padded over to the locked cupboard in which he kept his private possessions. A bottle of rum purchased at Booty Bay during his most recent trip there with Flynn, almost gone. He tipped it back and took a swig, wincing as it burned its way down his throat.

He didn’t often allow himself the solace of hard spirits, even in the privacy of his own quarters, but it had been a long day and instead of the warm and welcoming ex-pirate that he'd expected, he’d found only a note in his bed. “Wyrmbane needed someone to track down a smuggler’s trail in Bridgeport. Back in two days.”

Of course, Flynn had known he didn’t need to sign the note. Aside from the fact that nobody else would have had the questionable taste to break into Shaw’s bedroom only to leave a note on his pillow, Flynn’s sloppy handwriting would have been a dead giveaway. Shaw ran his finger over the hastily penciled words, imagining them delivered in Flynn’s clear tenor.

It was more than a little alarming how quickly the man had burrowed his way into Mathias’ bed, and his life. The spymaster used to pride himself on being able to go all day and long into the night, focused on his duties. But lately, as the day drew to a close and the sun’s rays faded from the window, he often found himself…restless, his eyes drawn to the door, the muscles of his thighs shifting against the smooth wood of his chair.

He’s ruined me. Mathias tipped the bottle back for another swallow. It was a good burn. His eyes smarted and his muscles ached. _Turn over Mattie and let me work those knots out of your back_ … Ever since the Dolphin…he was no longer the man he had been.

Not fair to blame Fairwind, he admonished himself. It had been Mathias’ choice to get completely shit-faced and find his way to the _Middenwake_ , to Flynn’s door and into Flynn’s bed that night. He’d known what he was going to do even before he ordered his first drink.

If he’d wanted to, he could have put it all behind him. After they returned from their ill-fated mission to Freehold aboard a ship full of murderous rapists and cutthroats, Flynn had neither approached him nor attempted to contact him. Leaving the choice entirely to him.

Mathias’ throat closed down. _Wreckage bobbing on the waves. No survivors_. When he thought he had lost Flynn… _Middenwake’s berth, empty_.

It had been the longest day of his life. Not the very worst, but the worst days usually provided him with something to focus on rather than the constant awareness of a message that hadn’t come. That might never come.

Until it had.

Mathias drained the bottle to its dregs, his tongue lapping the last few drops from the bottle’s mouth. He smiled, thinking about the look that Flynn would have given him. Along with a remark about what better uses Mathias could have put his tongue to. He set the empty bottle on the table, suddenly wracked by weariness.

Bed. Need sleep. Mathias pushed himself to his feet, swaying. Must have been a pretty potent brew. He tried to remember where he’d gotten the rum. The Salty Sailor. It was just common rum, not even some of the Baron’s private stock.

Flynn often accused him of being a lightweight. Not a fair comparison; Flynn’s capacity was legendary. Mathias remembered a blurred evening in southern Boralus, and a hundred-year-old whiskey that had induced him to make a complete fool of himself in public. Flynn was a terrible influence.

Mathias’ legs collapsed beneath him. Panic flooded his limbs, dulled by the stupor that seemed to have fallen over his brain. _I’ve been drugged_. It had happened too many times for him not to recognize the signs.

Knife…in my boot.

Can’t.

He barely found the strength to flop onto his back. Mathias knew he ought to be shouting for help but he didn’t have the energy. And in all likelihood, there would be nobody to hear. Nobody that wouldn’t end up being killed when his assassin or kidnapper arrived.

 _Fairwind, help me.._.

As his eyelids closed, he heard the door creak open.

* * *

Mathias swam back to consciousness. There was a blindfold tied over his eyes and something was restraining his limbs. He shifted slightly, testing the limits of his bonds, feeling the ropes at his wrists and ankles give a little but not enough. From the angle of his arms and the softness of what he was lying on, he knew he must be tied to a four poster bed. A blanket had been pulled up over his groin area, but he was completely naked beneath it.

An old interrogators trick, giving the victim the illusion of comfort and protection. Fire crackled in a hearth, not far from the bed. Shaw could smell it; the smokey sweet aroma raised goose bumps on his arms.

The Demons of Felsoul Hold always had fire pits handy. It took months for the smell of them to clear from his nostrils. Nausea rose up in his stomach before he could push the thought away.

There are no demons here, he promised himself desperately. This is just a man. Or men. I can handle this. I've been through far worse. No matter what transpires here, my interrogator is going to be human.

Demon fires had a different smell to them…

Quiet boot steps approached the bed. He kept his breathing regular; maybe pretending he was unconscious would cause his captors to be careless with their conversation.

The blanket was flipped back, flooding his groin area with cold air. He tensed, determined not to shiver.

The bed creaked and dipped; his captor spread himself over Shaw’s body. … _hands on me, spreading, restraining, splitting me open_ … He shook off the paralysis the memory had given him … _I’m not on the Dolphin_. The other man was also naked. Shaw felt something scratchy being dragged across his chest. It tickled. The man's lips deliberately plucked at Shaw's nipples.

 _Light help me if I'm mistaken here_ , Shaw thought. “Flynn? Is that you?” he asked. The scent coming from the man’s body was not one he recognized. Some kind of floral cologne.

There was a long pause. Then “Err...no, mate, I'm the dread pirate Blackthorn and I'm about to plunder your booty and there's not a thing you can do about it…”

“Flynn!” Shaw roared, rage and released terror and the desire to laugh until he choked all mixing up inside him. “Curse you!”

“We didn't talk about this part,” Flynn said defensively. “Sorry about the name. Did it kill the mood?”

“Flynn…you complete and utter... ass…” With horror, Shaw could hear the way his voice was breaking in what was almost a sob. “Don't do this to me, Fairwind.”

The blindfold was pulled off, and Flynn was peering anxiously down at him. “Shaw. You okay, mate? Did I do something wrong?”

 _Yes. No. Everything_. “Flynn. We talked about this. You shouldn't catch me by surprise.” His limbs were trembling in the aftermath of his private fears and he cursed again.

“Mattie…I'm sorry.” Flynn collapsed on top of him, wrapping himself around Shaw and hugging their bodies together tightly. His body was warm and the man's coarse pelt was oddly comforting.

Demons didn’t have hair.

“Whatever possessed you..?"

“You said ‘surprise me’, mate. Here let me get these off…” Flynn reached for Shaw's wrist…giving Mathias a very tempting view of the man's dangling cock.

“Wait...Fairwind... hold that pose.”

Flynn froze in place.

A normal bed. A normal fire. A normal room. Decidedly not a normal bed partner, but that was all right. He was all right.

Shaw stretched his neck, bringing his mouth into contact with the warm, velvety head of Flynn's cock. He let Flynn feel his teeth for a moment, before sucking him in deeper.

“G...Getting mixed signals, here, mate. Look, maybe this wasn't such a...” Then a gasp escaped Flynn's lips “...m…maybe it...was…”

It was an awkward angle, but it didn't take much to bring Flynn fully to hardness. The ex-pirate leaned back, his buttocks grinding deliciously against Mathias groin. “I'm in uncharted waters here, Mattie. Give me a heading…”

“First of all, stop calling me that,” Mathias growled. “It's undignified.”

“Right!” Flynn grinned unrepentantly. He assumed a piratical sneer. “Yargh! Tell me where yer’ treasure is, Throgmorton, or I’ll plunder yer’ booty!”

Mathias glared. “Getting repetitious, Captain. You already threatened me with that. And subsequently failed to follow through. And call me Throgmorton again and you'll feel more than just the edge of my teeth next time I have you in range.”

“You're a shitty captive, Mattie. There's just no pleasing you,” Flynn grumbled. “You're not making this easy, you know. I get performance anxiety.” He threw his hands up with abandon. “Your expectations are quite unreachable.” Flynn pushed himself up off the bed and stood, legs akimbo, arms crossed.

Mathias gave him a quelling look. “Theatrics, Flynn. Look…I'm not blaming you entirely for this…”

“Well, thanks so much…” Flynn was in full pout mode and the sight of the man's lips was making Mathias feel faint. He was so hard it was getting uncomfortable. “Look...Flynn. I apologize. We got this off to a bad start. Can we try for a different angle of approach?”

“Maybe,” said Flynn. His tongue crept out to nudge his mustache, leaving Mathias squirming. What was it about that gesture that was just so devastating? And he was doing it on purpose, the unscrupulous bastard. “What did you have in mind?”

“Let's scale back a bit. I'm the spymaster. You're interrogating me. Let's not get fancy. Make a few threats, fondle me in intimidating ways and then let's move on through to the...er... main event.”

Flynn pursed his lips, licking them absently. “I suppose I can work with that.” He raised his voice. “Fine! You don't want to talk, spymaster? I'm going to make you regret that. By the time I get done with you, you’ll be begging to tell me everything you know. I'm going to ream you so deep you’ll feel it in your sinuses…”

Mathias cleared his throat. “Let's leave that last one off next time, shall we?” he suggested. "Or find a less disgusting way to phrase the consequences."

“Whatever you say. Now... where was I..?”

“You were about to make me beg, Captain Blackthorn…”

* * *

Captain Tulnik Ramshorn, dwarven sharpshooter and twenty-year veteran with the Stormwind seventh legion, climbed the staircase to the second floor of the Quiet Cove Inn. He had received an urgent message from Derby Sandstone, who was one of his contacts in SI:7, directing Tulnik to this location. The message had included a code phrase that indicated it was of the highest priority.

Derby was only first finger. He shouldn't even have known that code but his uncle was fifth finger so perhaps he'd been tutoring the lad on the sly. Tulnik scratched his thick beard and hoped Derby wasn't in for a severe reprimand for misuse of the code. He didn't want to have to be the one signing his name to that official report...

On the top floor was a row of doors lining a poorly lit hallway. A single dirty window shed moonlight over the floorboards, which clung to him as he walked. Sticky. Not exactly a high-class establishment. He dropped his voice down to a low whisper. “What's the status, agent? Report.” _His uncle will make my life a living hell if I have to black-mark his nephew…_

“I was just watching the docks, sir, and I saw a man with another man slung over his back. He was covered with a blanket but it slipped off as the man was carried into the Cove, and I recognized him.” Derby swallowed nervously. “It was Spymaster Shaw, sir.”

 _By the Light_... “Are you certain, Derby? Might have been someone who resembles him?”

“It was the spymaster, sir. I've seen him often with my uncle.”

“Well maybe he was just…” Tulnik trailed off. No, the spymaster would not be drunk, not in this part of town, and certainly not being carried through the streets like a sack of grain.

Uneasily, he wondered how formidable a spy would have to be in order to be able to bring the spymaster down. “Where is he?”

“That door, sir.”

“If this goes south, lad, you run for help. Is that clear?” After receiving Derby’s nod, Tulnik crept quietly to the door that had been indicated and pressed his ear against the keyhole.

“…don't want to talk, spymaster? I'm going to make you regret that. By the time I get done with you, you’ll be begging to tell me everything…”

There was no mistaking the situation here, he thought in alarm. He drew his pistol, gave himself a bit of a runway and charged at the door. At the impact, the flimsy lock broke and the door slammed open. Spymaster Shaw was bound, naked to a bed but still unbloodied, thank the Light, and standing over him menacingly was…

…another naked man.

Tulnik’s brain stopped. Just abandoned him. He didn't blame it. He'd have given anything to be free to follow it.

* * *

The door was kicked open.

 _Light have mercy. What now_? With a growing sense of dread, Mathias turned his head, to see the door slam against the wall, leaving a man framed in the doorway. A very short, very indignant looking man with a pistol in his hand, obviously a member of Wyrmbane’s legion, by his decorations. His expression faded into uncertainty as he got a good eyeful of what he had just stumbled upon. He blanched. "Err...sir...are you...all right?"

There was a long silence. A very long silence. Then Shaw answered him, in a voice tipped with frost. "Quite fine. Thank you for your concern."

"Sorry sir!" the dwarf squeaked and yanked his head out of sight.

Flynn closed the door.

"How. The hell. Do you always manage to get me into these situations, Flynn?"

"Pure, raw, unrivaled and unbridled talent. Not to mention a lifetime of experience, and never discount the value of a positive attitude. Now, where were we?”

Mathias sighed. “Mood’s killed, Flynn.”

“Well, let’s resurrect it, shall we?”

“Ship’s sailed. Let me up.”

Flynn’s lower lip began to quiver.

“Don’t do that Fairwind, or I’ll be forced to hurt you, so help me…”

A sudden, impish grin transformed Flynn’s face. “Aww…Mattie. Dammit.” Flynn bent to kiss Mathias’ chest gently, directly over his heart. “You have no idea how much I…” He broke off. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to embarrass you with your people.” He reached for the knot that secured Mathias’ arm to the bedpost.

“Wait.” Mathias cleared his throat, a quiet, discrete sound.

Flynn’s fingers paused in the act of plucking at the rope, and he waited on the spymaster’s next words. His gaze flickered to Mathias. “It’s okay, Mattie. We can play again another day,” he said wistfully.

“Finish what you started, Fairwind.” Mathias gave him a fond glare.

“But what about..?” Flynn gestured at the door.

“Never mind that,” Mathias said fiercely. “This is you and me, Flynn. They don’t matter. They don’t come between us.” Joy and contentment flooded into his heart as Flynn’s expression melted.

“Never, mate,” Flynn said tenderly. Then his expression changed into an impish grin. “But next time let’s find someplace with a stronger door.”


End file.
